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moonlettuceTitle: Because the Earth Turns Round the Sun
Author: Claire
Fandom: Primeval
Pairing: Stephen/OMC, Nick
Rating: R
Summary: It wasn't as though Nick had intended to follow Stephen to the club.
It wasn't as though Nick had intended to follow Stephen to the club. He'd gone straight from the ARC to the other man's flat just to see if they could talk, if there was anything of their friendship worth salvaging.
But he hadn't even had the chance to get out of the car before Stephen had walked out of the building, tight jeans and leather jacket wrapped around him to protect him from the spring rain that can't decide how heavy it wants to be.
So Nick had left the car parked outside, student dissertations scattered all over the back seat, and followed, cursing himself for a fool with every step and wondering why he didn't just call out, tell Stephen to stop.
The rain is starting to run down Nick's neck by the time Stephen finally reaches his destination. Nick's not surprised he doesn't recognise the place; he's not exactly the clubbing type, after all. He waits a few minutes, partly protected by the awning of the building opposite, before he follows Stephen inside, paying the cover charge without the complaint handing twenty quid over would generally bring.
Stephen's at the bar when Nick spots him, club surprisingly crowded for the fact that there's no queue outside. There's a rumbling bass beating through the floor and into Nick's body and it's not until fingers tap his arm that he realises the barman's speaking to him.
He's never heard of the beer that's put in front of him, but he's too busy watching Stephen to care what it tastes like beyond it being cold and alcoholic. Stephen, who's watching thrum of, oh, all male dancers like he's considering diving into the middle of them. Stephen's eyes are scanning the room, his gaze moving closer to where Nick is, and Nick turns away quickly, wondering what the hell he was thinking when he followed Stephen here. It's bad enough the Stephen will barely look at him when they're at the ARC now, but to be caught stalking him into a gay club? Stephen would never speak to him again.
Nick drains the last of the beer, he'd paid enough for it, the bottle going back on the bar with a soft thump. They obviously pay the barman more than most places because he's in front of Nick within seconds, asking if he wants another before drifting to another customer before Nick even finishes shaking his head. And it's not that he doesn't want another drink; he does. But if he's going to do this, then he'll do it properly, maudlin and alone with the nearly full bottle of Edradour that's been in his cupboard since Christmas. All he has to do is get out without Stephen seeing him.
Only Stephen's not looking around the club anymore. Not looking at anything except the bloke standing next to him, older than Stephen is with scruffy dark blonde hair, and Nick raises a hand to his temple in reflex.
Nick can't hear what's being said, they're too far away and the music too loud, but he sees Stephen nod, sees him finish his drink before following the guy to a door beyond the end of the bar.
And Nick's not stupid, he knows there's only one reason two blokes go into the loos in a gay bar together. He tells himself he should leave, should stop wondering if Stephen's going to his knees right now and just get out, tells himself this all the way to the door.
The toilets are bright inside, clean and white and the guy pissing at one of the urinals gives him a quick once over before Nick goes into the empty cubicle, lock sliding home with a click that's audible over the muted pounding of the music.
The rustling in the cubicle next to him pauses for barely a second before Stephen's voice reaches him, guttural, "fuck, yes--" in a tone he's never heard from the younger man before, in a tone that goes straight to his cock.
His cock throbs and Nick's hand is halfway to the door, halfway to wrenching it open and escaping back into the club when the cubicle wall rattles and Stephen's demand to hurry filters through. To hurry and now and yes and everything else that's cut off in a gasp of breath.
Nick can see it if he closes his eyes. Stephen, jeans around his thighs and pressed against the cubicle wall as a thick cock splits him open. And he knows he should leave, now more than ever, but he won't, he can't. Because the pleas in Stephen's voice, the harder and faster and more are holding him there stronger than any chains could.
There's other words, ones not coming from Stephen, but all Nick can make out is tight and hot and yes, as he snaps his jeans open, cock heavy in his palm, hot and wanting.
It takes a few faltering strokes before he manages to match the cadence Stephen's being fucked at, rattle of the cubicle wall indicting every thrust. He focuses on Stephen's voice as he jerks himself, fist too cool and too loose and not Stephen.
It's fast and it's hard and the sound of Stephen begging for more has Nick's balls tightening, has him coming a beat after Stephen cries out, hot and sudden and there as he slumps down onto the loo, his own breath as heavy as the others.
He tucks himself away as he sits there, cooling come wiped onto his jeans and waiting as the other cubicle empties with the sound of clothes being adjusted and the loo being flushed. He can hear the murmur of words, but not what they are, hears Stephen's laugh as someone knocks on the door and yells that they hope he had as good a time as they did.
He's not sure how long he sits there for, not sure if Stephen will still be in the club, or if he'll have gone now that he got what he came for. He's not sure about a lot of things, but he's sure about what he heard when Stephen came, wanting and needing and nothing less than a beginning.
"Nick."
Author: Claire
Fandom: Primeval
Pairing: Stephen/OMC, Nick
Rating: R
Summary: It wasn't as though Nick had intended to follow Stephen to the club.
It wasn't as though Nick had intended to follow Stephen to the club. He'd gone straight from the ARC to the other man's flat just to see if they could talk, if there was anything of their friendship worth salvaging.
But he hadn't even had the chance to get out of the car before Stephen had walked out of the building, tight jeans and leather jacket wrapped around him to protect him from the spring rain that can't decide how heavy it wants to be.
So Nick had left the car parked outside, student dissertations scattered all over the back seat, and followed, cursing himself for a fool with every step and wondering why he didn't just call out, tell Stephen to stop.
The rain is starting to run down Nick's neck by the time Stephen finally reaches his destination. Nick's not surprised he doesn't recognise the place; he's not exactly the clubbing type, after all. He waits a few minutes, partly protected by the awning of the building opposite, before he follows Stephen inside, paying the cover charge without the complaint handing twenty quid over would generally bring.
Stephen's at the bar when Nick spots him, club surprisingly crowded for the fact that there's no queue outside. There's a rumbling bass beating through the floor and into Nick's body and it's not until fingers tap his arm that he realises the barman's speaking to him.
He's never heard of the beer that's put in front of him, but he's too busy watching Stephen to care what it tastes like beyond it being cold and alcoholic. Stephen, who's watching thrum of, oh, all male dancers like he's considering diving into the middle of them. Stephen's eyes are scanning the room, his gaze moving closer to where Nick is, and Nick turns away quickly, wondering what the hell he was thinking when he followed Stephen here. It's bad enough the Stephen will barely look at him when they're at the ARC now, but to be caught stalking him into a gay club? Stephen would never speak to him again.
Nick drains the last of the beer, he'd paid enough for it, the bottle going back on the bar with a soft thump. They obviously pay the barman more than most places because he's in front of Nick within seconds, asking if he wants another before drifting to another customer before Nick even finishes shaking his head. And it's not that he doesn't want another drink; he does. But if he's going to do this, then he'll do it properly, maudlin and alone with the nearly full bottle of Edradour that's been in his cupboard since Christmas. All he has to do is get out without Stephen seeing him.
Only Stephen's not looking around the club anymore. Not looking at anything except the bloke standing next to him, older than Stephen is with scruffy dark blonde hair, and Nick raises a hand to his temple in reflex.
Nick can't hear what's being said, they're too far away and the music too loud, but he sees Stephen nod, sees him finish his drink before following the guy to a door beyond the end of the bar.
And Nick's not stupid, he knows there's only one reason two blokes go into the loos in a gay bar together. He tells himself he should leave, should stop wondering if Stephen's going to his knees right now and just get out, tells himself this all the way to the door.
The toilets are bright inside, clean and white and the guy pissing at one of the urinals gives him a quick once over before Nick goes into the empty cubicle, lock sliding home with a click that's audible over the muted pounding of the music.
The rustling in the cubicle next to him pauses for barely a second before Stephen's voice reaches him, guttural, "fuck, yes--" in a tone he's never heard from the younger man before, in a tone that goes straight to his cock.
His cock throbs and Nick's hand is halfway to the door, halfway to wrenching it open and escaping back into the club when the cubicle wall rattles and Stephen's demand to hurry filters through. To hurry and now and yes and everything else that's cut off in a gasp of breath.
Nick can see it if he closes his eyes. Stephen, jeans around his thighs and pressed against the cubicle wall as a thick cock splits him open. And he knows he should leave, now more than ever, but he won't, he can't. Because the pleas in Stephen's voice, the harder and faster and more are holding him there stronger than any chains could.
There's other words, ones not coming from Stephen, but all Nick can make out is tight and hot and yes, as he snaps his jeans open, cock heavy in his palm, hot and wanting.
It takes a few faltering strokes before he manages to match the cadence Stephen's being fucked at, rattle of the cubicle wall indicting every thrust. He focuses on Stephen's voice as he jerks himself, fist too cool and too loose and not Stephen.
It's fast and it's hard and the sound of Stephen begging for more has Nick's balls tightening, has him coming a beat after Stephen cries out, hot and sudden and there as he slumps down onto the loo, his own breath as heavy as the others.
He tucks himself away as he sits there, cooling come wiped onto his jeans and waiting as the other cubicle empties with the sound of clothes being adjusted and the loo being flushed. He can hear the murmur of words, but not what they are, hears Stephen's laugh as someone knocks on the door and yells that they hope he had as good a time as they did.
He's not sure how long he sits there for, not sure if Stephen will still be in the club, or if he'll have gone now that he got what he came for. He's not sure about a lot of things, but he's sure about what he heard when Stephen came, wanting and needing and nothing less than a beginning.
"Nick."
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